Page 69 of My Husband Problem

Declan smiles. “I’m going to take that as a yes, but if it’s short, find me tomorrow.” He hands the money over, then turns us both toward the door.

“That probably won’t get you Team Declan points,” I tell him as he holds the door open and waits for me to step through. “Bruce won’t tell anyone that you did that. I mean, he’ll tell them their bill is covered, but he won’t tell them how much you overpaid.”

“I didn’t do it for Team Declan points.”

And somehow, I already knew that.

We walk across the park toward my house. I’m braced the entire time for him to ask about what I told Beckett. But he says nothing. He also doesn’t touch me again. Both things leave me wound tight by the time we hit my front path.

Like last night, I don’t think I can handle being enclosed in my house, my safe haven, with this man.

Declan doesn’t make me feel unsafe. At least not in bad ways. But he is dangerous.

To my sanity. To my determination that abstinence is fine and my forever choice. And maybe, to my heart.

I stop at the bottom of my porch steps and turn to face him. “Thanks for filling in on the team. Maybe I should’ve asked you before telling the guys.”

I’m not sure why that’s what I start with. For one thing, I’m actually not sorry that I didn’t ask him first. For another, that’s not what I want to talk about at all.

“But if you had asked me, that would’ve defeated the purpose, right?” he asks.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, looking completely nonchalant while my heart is pounding in my chest, and my skin is in that perpetual state of tingly-slash-itchy.

“The purpose?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“The purpose of annoying me? The purpose of making me throw up my hands and agree to the annulment?”

This is one of the things I like best about him. He’s smart, used to going toe to toe with his rivals, and has never met a challenge he didn’t face down with a cockiness I both admire and relate to.

Cockiness isn’t about always knowing you’re the best. It’s about convincing everyone else that you’re the best—even when you’re scared or confused or completely in over your head.

We have that cockiness in common.

I shake my head. “I figured it might take a few days,” I say. “Getting to you on day one would have been disappointing.”

He steps closer. My breath lodges in my chest.

“And you’ve, evidently, been disappointed in how I’ve handled other things?” he asks.

“Is that your way of saying you’re sorry for being so stubborn about divorcing me? I forgive you. Let’s sign the papers tonight.” My stupid voice is a little breathless.

He lifts a hand and takes a strand of my hair between his thumb and index finger. He drags his fingers along the length, before tucking it behind my ear. “I’m not divorcing you, Astrid.”

He’s touching your hair, not your clit. Get a grip.

But apparently when it comes to Declan, my hormones and nerve endings don’t care if he’s touching the tip of my pinky toe or my nipple. It all gets the same reaction.

I swallow hard. “Give it a little more time.”

He moves even closer. “I don’t think so. After all, you don’t want me to leave you alone, right?”

I have to take a breath before answering. Yep, he definitely heard, and took note of, what I said at the cafe.

“That was for—” I have to stop and clear my throat. “That was for Beckett. With Andi.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Dammit. He doesn’t even need to touch me when he’s talking like this. His voice is low and gruff. He’s standing close enough that I can smell his body wash and the cologne on his shirt. The same scent combination I use to get myself off.